


The Silver Archer

by obrienwolfe



Category: Marvel (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Fandom crossover, Gen, Marvel fandom, Mixed Fandoms, My First Work in This Fandom, Teen Wolf Crossover Marvel, Teen Wolf Fandom, teen wolf crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obrienwolfe/pseuds/obrienwolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Allison Argent,” the now very identifiable man said, no question in his booming voice. “I’ve been watching you.”<br/>“Nick Fury,” Allison replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a small smile. “You definitely could have said that in a less creepy way.” </p><p> </p><p>(Allison is recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

            A bullet tore aggressively through the air, the wind whistling past its sleek sides as its thin barrel spun rapidly. The man responsible for shooting the bullet stood with his legs shoulder width apart, arms outstretched, his sweaty, slippery hands clutched a bit too tightly on his revolver. As the bullet traveled directly towards its target the man allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. No one could escape or survive a shot straight between the eyes, and killing his pursuer would keep him safe for a little longer, long enough for him to leave the city. Though the man had extreme confidence in his shot, the young woman on the receiving end of the bullet thought otherwise. In a whirlwind of impossible movement she dropped to the ground and dodged the soaring bullet, leaping back to her feet with a gleam in her usually gentle doe eyes as the bullet hit the alley wall behind her in a small explosion of brick and mortar. The man froze in fear as his pursuer dodged the bullet (a bullet!) and faced him with determination in her stance. Realizing that he should probably be running (yup, running was a great idea), the man turned on his heel and sprinted towards the mouth of the alley, his heavy boots pounding on the slick pavement. With a smirk and a flip of her hair the young woman darted after her target, her shoes barely making a sound as she gained on the man. When she was close enough to touch him the young woman gathered her strength, leapt onto a barrel and vaulted over the man, flipping smoothly in the air and landing lightly on her feet facing her victim, her back to the exit. This time real fear struck the man’s heart when he realized there was no escape, though it didn’t stop him from running back towards the dead end of the alley. The young woman rolled her eyes and sighed, speaking to no one.

            “They never learn. It doesn’t help to keep running; it only prolongs the punishment.”

            Quickly snatching her bow from the sash and quiver attached to her back the young woman notched an arrow, drew the string, and after a quick release of breath, let go. The silver projectile hit the fleeing man right where it was intended to hit him: in the back of his knee. It was enough to cripple and to stop him from running but not enough to kill. The young woman avoided killing, if she could. When the woman reached him, the now moaning man was face down on the ground, most definitely accepting defeat. Grabbing him by the back of his shirt, the woman dragged her victim towards the entrance of the alley and propped him up against the wall of a business in a circle of sickly yellow light from the street lamp. Someone would find him in the morning, recognize him, and arrest him. He was, after all, the biggest and dirtiest killer Beacon Hills had seen in a few months and deserved to go to prison for life.

After making sure the man was unconscious and wouldn’t scream and wake up the general public, the young woman returned to the alley to pick up her bow, which she had dropped after shooting the murderer (it was kind of ironic). The young woman froze half bent over as she sensed someone watching her, and glancing upside down through her legs she spotted the culprit. Standing up and turning around (bow in hand) gave her a full view of her stalker; an intimidating looking man with dark skin wearing a long black coat that was flapping comically in the wind, slightly ruining his bad guy image. When he moved towards her slightly, the young woman was able to see that a black eye patch stretched tightly over his left eye and that angry black lines surrounded the wounded area.

            “Allison Argent,” the now very identifiable man said, no question in his booming voice. “I’ve been watching you.”

            “Nick Fury,” Allison replied, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a small smile. “You definitely could have said that in a less creepy way.”

            “I know you have been doing some pretty intense criminal hunting,” Fury continued without acknowledging Allison’s comment, “and I think its time that you came in. We need more people like you.”

            “I suppose it wouldn’t matter to you if I said no,” Allison frowned slightly around her words, “and I also suppose when you say ‘people like me’ you mean normal humans with good training and not super soldiers, people with insane suits of armor, and Norse gods who happen to like Earth.”

            Fury’s expression remained infuriatingly impassive. Seriously, did the man even have a sense of humor?  “I mean very skilled women who can kick some serious supernatural ass. Someone like Black Widow.”

            “Oh, so I’m just a copycat hero now?” Allison joked, slipping her bow back into the sash behind her back and striding towards the mouth of the alley.

            “Uses a bow and arrow, can kill a man with her bare hands, and has experience fighting werewolves, kanimas, and mentally unsound druid witches; yeah I’m pretty sure that we haven’t seen anyone like that before,” Fury deadpanned, turning to follow Allison to the entrance of the alley where she was busy yanking her arrow from the back of the knee of the unconscious man. 

            Allison stopped in the middle of wiping the bloody arrow off on her black pants and stared at Fury in mock shock. “Did you just make a joke? Were you just being sarcastic? Does the stoic Nick Fury actually have a sense of humor after all?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Fury grumbled. “When you come to work for S.H.I.E.L.D you’ll discover all of my secrets.”

            Allison scoffed. “I doubt that,” she chuckled, as she and Fury disappeared into the shadows.

  

                                                                                           *                      *                      *

  

            The floor lurched suddenly and tilted forwards, almost throwing Allison head over heels into the high tech computers and glass mirrors in front of her. She grabbed onto the table beside her (which was bolted to the floor, thank goodness) and planted her feet in a shoulder width stance, her eyes wide in surprise.

            “You’ll get used to it,” said an amiable sounding voice from behind her. “It’s only bad on takeoff. Once we get into the air you’ll barely be able to feel a thing.”

            Once the helicarrier stabilized Allison turned to come face to face with the helpful voice. Or, rather, face to chest. Smiling knowingly, Allison took a step back so she could see the (very tall) man fully, and smiled even wider when she caught sight of his red and blue uniform with bright white stars.

            “Steve Rogers,” the man said firmly, holding out a hand. She shook it deliberately and then pulled away.

            “Allison Argent,” she replied, taking in the man’s piercing blue eyes and slicked back sandy hair. “So you’re the famous Captain America, hero who was thawed from the ice,” Allison said, turning to watch the helicarrier rise through the windows that covered the entire front wall of the vehicle. “I guess going skiing would be an extremely traumatic experience for you, and ice cream must be out of the question.”

            Glancing at Steve from the corner of her eye, Allison saw him crack a smile, though just like Fury he didn’t respond to her joke. What was it with these people? “I guess you’re The Silver Archer then,” he said, looking her up and down. I expected you to be…” He paused there, and Allison decided that if he said ‘I expected you to be a man’ she wouldn’t hesitate to punch his lights out. “…taller,” Steve finished, grinning again.

            “Asshole,” Allison muttered under her breath, smiling, as she tucked her brown hair behind her ear to cover up her angry flush. Wow, did she need to control her temper. It was just that she had no idea what to expect in this new world full of “superheroes,” if she could even call herself one (and its not like she didn’t firmly stand up for what she believed in). Her life after high school was pretty uneventful; she calmly broke up with her werewolf boyfriend Scott (who started dating Kira and Allison thought they were so cute together), stayed friends with super sleuth Stiles and snarky Lydia, and occasionally met up with Derek, Jackson, Erica, Boyd, and the rest of the gang to reminisce about old times. Other than that it was hard to connect with old friends during college because she went to a school across the country from Beacon Hills, California. Despite her promise to leave the town and see the world, Allison rushed back to Beacon Hills after graduation when supernatural activity hit her radar, seeing as her duties as a hunter kind of forced her. After defeating a vengeful alpha that kidnapped the elementary school kid of a rival pack leader, Allison realized that this was what she loved to do. She loved the thrill of hunting and helping people and using her still developing fighting skills and it was something she wanted to do until she was too old to chase villains through the streets. Sadly it didn’t pay the bills, so Allison’s “real job” was at the public library as a writing teacher. She loved teaching teenagers and younger her favorite subject when she was in high school and helping them, and the hours were flexible, which was great with her erratic villain-hunting schedule. (Allison guessed that her day job was out of the question now that she was working with S.H.I.E.L.D.) But seriously, a superhero? The Silver Archer? Who even came up with that? She was a fighter, sure, but why Fury had selected her was beyond her knowledge.

            “So,” Steve started again, breaking her out of her thoughts, “where are you from?”

            “Originally I’m from Beacon Hills, California, which I presume is where we are taking off from right now.” (Fury had put her in a black car in the middle of the night and they had driven for about an hour, so for all she knew they could be out of Beacon Hills.) “But,” she continued, “I lived in New York for four years during college.”

            “So you’re fresh out of college then? How old are you, like 21?”

            “22,” Allison said defensively. “You can’t judge ‘Mr. Grandpa. I-” she began to say, but was rudely interrupted when she felt something slam into her back and send her crashing to the floor of the helicarrier. Letting out a surprised ‘oof’ noise Allison quickly wriggled out of the grip of the small figure pinning her to the ground and leapt to her feet. Before she was able to catch a glance of anything but a flash of bright red hair Allison was being attacked, punches and kicks flying at her face and midsection faster than she thought possible. The first kick hit her directly in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her, but she soon gained her bearings and blocked each one, even able to get some punches in of her own. The fight was like an intricate dance; her and the other woman (who she was only slightly able to see now) twirled around each other and ducked, weaved, and dodged each other’s attacks until Allison was heaving for breath. With a quirky smile the smaller woman swept Allison’s feet from under and pinned her deftly to the ground, grinning with bright teeth. The other woman sat on Allison’s chest for a moment, gasping for breath, before she jumped up and offered Allison a hand. Taking it warily Allison was pulled up off the ground and was finally able to fully see her attacker.

            The other woman was about a quarter of a foot shorter than Allison and lithe, like a tiger. She had flaming red hair cut short around her shoulders and a small nose that turned up at the end. She wore all black leather and an empty utility belt around her waist, and looked a bit like a badass ninja.

            “Natasha Romanoff,” the young woman said, sticking out her hand for Allison to shake. (Wow this was just going to keep happening wasn’t it; all these damn introductions.) 

            “The Black Widow,” Allison smiled. “I’m Allison. Argent.”

            “The Silver Archer,” Natasha said, sounding impressed. 

            “Really?” Allison exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “I didn’t even come up with that and now everyone is saying it. It’s not a very good name, is it? I mean, my last name literally means ‘silver’ in French.”

             Natasha laughed lightly and perched herself on the edge of one of the tables. Now that she wasn’t being attacked or meeting _the_ Captain America, Allison realized that they were in a room full of people, typing away at computers and other high tech machines. None of them even looked up during the fight!

            “I know, right?” Natasha said, as if she had read Allison’s mind. “They literally never bat an eye. I wonder if they were selected because of their uncanny ability to not give a damn.” Allison laughed out loud. Finally someone who shared her sense of humor!

            “I mean, seriously,” she continued. “They don’t even look like they care. They don’t even respect my spectacular aptitude to win fights. I thought that deserved a round of applause or something.”

             Natasha laughed. “Technically you didn’t win. I pinned you last.” A woman sitting next to Natasha with a high brown bun on the back of her head whirled around in her desk chair. 

            “Don’t feel bad,” she said. “You’re the only person I’ve seen who even came close to beating Black Widow in one of those fights. So congrats. I’m Maria Hill, by the way.”

            “Fury’s right hand woman!” Steve exclaimed, clapping Maria on the back. “The famous Agent Hill.” (Allison had to admit; she’d forgotten he was even there in the craziness of the last few minutes.) Agent Hill just rolled her eyes and spun back around in her chair, whispering some low words into a walkie-talkie device attached to her ear before continuing her speedy typing.

             “Always busy,” Natasha sighed, hopping off the table and turning to leave the room. “Come on,” she said impatiently, gesturing for Allison and Steve to follow her out of the spacious tech room and into a dark hallway. “Fury sent me to get you guys. It’s team meeting time.”

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! That was my first ever fanfic and it may have been a terrible idea to start out with a crossover fic but I have 'no ragrets,' as Scotty P so eloquently put it. (If you don't know what that's from you need to watch We're the Millers immediately.) I might continue with this story so please tell me if you want me to! (I also had no one but myself edit this so please point out any mistakes I may have made.)


	2. The Silver Archer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! I'm trying to write this in my free time and even though it's summer I'm really busy :( I hoped you enjoyed the new chapter, and I love you all!!

       “Oh great, another stray,” quipped a snarky voice from the bright room at the end of the dim hallway. Allison squinted as she followed Natasha into the light, blinking to clear her vision. What she saw when her eyes adjusted was definitely a sight to behold. The first thing that caught her attention was a broad, tall man dressed completely in intricately designed war armor, and the outfit was complimented by a billowing red cape. The god’s (I mean who else could it be) hair lay in blonde waves down his back and in one hand dangled his hammer (Mjolnir, Allison recalled faintly from Norse history in fourth grade). He leaned somehow gracefully against an empty bookcase that dominated a whole wall of the room and smiled widely when Allison, Natasha, and Steve entered. She liked him instantly. Next, Allison spotted Tony Stark. He was lounging in an armchair in a corner, but he seemed to take up the whole room. She could see the small glow of his magical circular life force thing as it throbbed in his chest, and he was twirling the sides of a Rubik’s cube in his hands. She just knew it was him who had made the sassy comment about her, so she rolled her eyes and turned away. She disliked him instantly, and it was uncommon for Allison to meet someone who she didn’t like right away.

       When she first scanned the room, Allison had missed the man that sat lightly in his chair wearing purple and black, because he seemed to blend into the background; the opposite of Stark. He smirked at Natasha as she rounded the room to sit next to him, and she playfully punched him on his shoulder. For some reason, Allison got the feeling that this was a rare display of emotion from the Black Widow and that she was intruding on a private moment. Turning away, Allison noticed another man in the room, who she assumed was Bruce Banner. He sat hunched over slightly in his chair, his peppered hair shadowing his face. He was scribbling away at a worn looking notebook, and loose papers were strewn at the floor by his feet. Occasionally, he would twist around to access his computer on the table and type notes on there.

       Steve slid past Allison and immediately went to sit next to a man with slicked back dark brown hair and piercing grey-blue eyes. He, like Stark, was lounged in an armchair, but the way he was seated seemed less cocky and more relaxed. He gave Steve a charming smile as the other man perched on the edge of his armchair.

       Allison raised her eyebrows and was about to open her mouth to break the slightly uncomfortable silence when Fury brushed past her through the doorway.

       “Banner, clean up your science experiment, and Stark put away your toys,” Fury said, sounding exasperated. He motioned for Allison to sit at the table that most of the Avengers (the Avengers! What the hell was she doing with the Avengers??) were gathered around, excluding Stark, of course, and she slid hesitantly into a chair next to Steve and his dark haired (boy?)friend. Natasha gave her a little smile and Allison smiled back; of the Avengers, she most definitely liked Natasha and Steve the most, and she could tell she was going to like Steve’s friend.

       “Okay, people,” Fury boomed, bringing the attention back to himself. “In case you didn’t already know, this is Allison Argent. She’s now on the team.” Allison blinked. She what?

       “Um,” she said, raising her hand to get Fury’s attention. “You did not mention any of this when you picked me up in the middle of the night and didn’t even let me tell my boss that I was leaving. They probably think I’m dead. Also, I never wanted to join the Avengers; I thought you were just bringing me here to become an agent. Or something.” Fury glared at her.

       “You are becoming part of the Avengers. You will train with the team, you will live in Stark Tower with the team, and you will go on missions with the team.” His voice softened minutely. “I chose you because I believe you will add to the dynamic of this group, so give it a chance.” Allison narrowed her eyes and slouched slightly in her chair, but nodded.

       “Anyway,” continued Fury, turning to face the center of the room, “I just wanted to introduce you to Ms. Argent. When a new mission comes in, we’ll meet back here for debriefing when you are called. For now, go off on your own and we may pull some of you out for small missions with a few select members of the team.” He glanced around the room. “Rogers, Buchanan, and Romanoff,” he decided, looking pleased with himself, “please show Ms. Argent to her level on Stark Tower and tell her how everything else works around here. I trust you to fill her in on everything important.”

       Natasha inclined her head slightly, Steve nodded firmly, and Steve’s friend Buchanan (which was probably his last name) simply winked. Allison stifled the childish urge to giggle at their very characteristic antics. Fury swept out of the room in a dramatic swirl of black cloak, and the Avengers (wow this was really happening) started to disperse. Stark rolled his eyes and stalked away, tossing his now finished Rubik’s cube in the trash, Natasha’s friend dramatically shouted “Hawkeye out!” and left, and Thor drifted to Banner’s side and peered interestedly over his shoulder. Allison turned and looked to her tour guides, who stood expectantly near the door, Buchanan leaning against the frame with a slight smile on his face. Allison followed them back down the dim passage and through an impossible maze of hallways until they eventually arrived at an elevator. Piling in, Steve gestured to the elevator panel.

       “Because we’re still in the Helicarrier, there are only a few floors, but we’re about to land, so these guys and I will show you Stark Tower and all the important things there.” Natasha watched Allison with a passive expression on her face and Steve’s friend looked at Steve.

       “Sure,” Allison responded dryly. “Thanks.”

       With a bump, the Helicarrier touched down on solid earth and Allison could feel her body being grounded. Though she didn’t particularly mind flying, being on the ground was much more comfortable. The group exited the elevator and onto the first floor of the Helicarrier, where people were bustling around to secure the flying ship. Steve gestured for them to follow him as he maneuvered through the crowds and out into the crisp morning air. He struck up a conversation with Natasha and let his friend lag behind with Allison. What she least expected was for Buchanan to start talking to her.

       “Just so you know, my name’s not Buchanan; it’s James. But everybody calls me Bucky.” He glanced sideways at her through his eyelashes, and his intense eyes unnerved her slightly.

       “Hey Bucky,” she replied shyly, and he nodded, as if he was satisfied with her response. The rest of the walk (to where Allison didn’t know) was silent, but it was comfortable, and neither she nor Bucky felt the need to talk. Natasha and Steve stopped suddenly in front of a car and got in, and Bucky followed suit. Allison paused to appreciate the vehicle; it was sleek, black, and probably really expensive, and it had tinted windows and shiny rims. The passenger side window rolled down and Natasha leaned over Steve to stick her head out.

       “Get in loser,” she said, sliding some black Ray Bans on over her bright blue eyes and giving Allison a sarcastic smile. “We’re going shopping.” As she rolled the window back up, Allison heard Steve say: “I understood that reference!” in an eager voice. She smiled as she slid in next to Bucky. She was beginning to reconsider her hesitancy to consider herself part of the Avengers; this was going to be awesome.


End file.
